Snowed
by muahaha1524
Summary: Sherlolly fluff ;)


**I am now writing my second Sherlock fanfic because my first one got such good reviews so I am inspired to keep on:) Thanks for support guys**

Molly Hooper drew the curtain aside and looked out the window to the street, where heaps of fluffy white snow piled the corners and sidewalks. No one was outside, and a fire flickered in the fireplace of 221B.

"I am sorry you got snowed in here, I was unaware it was snowing." Sherlock's deep, British voice said. Molly shrugged.

"No, it's fine, I don't mind." she waved him off, enjoying the view of snow that was slightly uncommon in London. Much less, to get snowed in. However, of all the places to be stuck...

"Yes, make yourself at home, I'll go fetch blankets for the couch." John volunteered.

"No, don't be ridiculous. Molly will be in my room." Sherlock stated like it was obvious. John and Molly looked at him a bit confused, and in Molly's case, nervous. "And I will be on the couch." he added.

"Right, Sherlock, that's really unnecessary. I'll be fine on the couch." Molly insisted, recovering from elevated heart beat at an uncomfortable level.

It took a long time to argue over who would sleep where, but Sherlock seemed to know just how to win. With a ruffle to his hair, he firmly declared that he would sleep on the couch. Molly sighed with a shrug, giving in.

"Alright fine, have it your way." she finally agreed. John raised a brow suspiciously at Sherlock and went to his room, gently closing the door. It _was _late, and Molly felt a bit tired. She stood awkwardly in the living room until Sherlock waved his hand.

"Shoo." he said flatly. Molly smiled weakly and followed the short hall to his room, which was not hard to locate, as it was the only other room besides John's and the loo.

The door closed softly and she looked around. There was a-

Seriously? A framed periodic table of elements? Who would truly put that in their room? Oh wait, Sherlock would.

Next to that there was really nothing there. There was a queen bed, nightstand, and dresser all matched, but nothing else but a window and coat hook. Molly sighed and slipped her boots off, with her cardigan and earring studs. Once that was all in a pile on the floor, she drew back the comforter and slipped her feet down into the cool sheets, which were rather unwelcoming in the cold.

In the dark, Molly nicely snuggled into the matress and put her head down. Oh, _God._

Immediately, she caught the whiff of him. That smell he always had, the one that made her swoon for years. Like sandalwood and a lush, green forest in Ireland. Why? No idea. But that was what he smelled like, and that was what Molly smelt now. It made her stomach flip.

She was in_ Sherlock bloody Holmes's bed._ Her! Molly Hooper in Sherlock Holmes's bed! She bit her lip to keep herself from giggling like a school girl.

There was no way she would sleep tonight, no way.

..

Meanwhile in the living room, Sherlock laid bored on the rather short couch he insisted on sleeping on. Why had he even given up his room? He normally wouldn't have done that. Why had he? What made him?

The windows really needed replacing, and he shivered when a draft whished through the space. Sherlock's stomach rumbled quietly, but he paid no attention to it. He never really did. Food was the least of his concerns, and right now his concern was why he offered sleeping on the couch for Molly.

..

Despite Molly's assumptions she wouldn't sleep, she was very tired. Her eyes would close and she would drift for a few minutes, as if drugged by the smell of her surroundings. Every time she woke up and scolded herself mentally for the types of dreams she would have, all of which including her and Sherlock quite alone. Why would he even give up his bed for her?

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, to find bullet holes in the shape of a smiley face. Not exactly surprising.

Molly didn't think she could handle the scent of Sherlock much longer, so she got up and peeked out the window, mostly just to pass time. A rather noisy bang in the kitchen snapped her out of her lazy daze.

Tip toeing, she padded down to the kitchen to investigate. What she found was also not very surprising. Sherlock's face was buried in the fridge, the light pouring into the room illuminating it.

"Can't sleep?" Molly asked. Sherlock made a noise of shock and jerked up, hitting his head roughly on the shelf above him. He sighed and removed himself from the appliance, one hand tangled in his hair.

"Wha- No. The sofa is only adequate for unexpected naps. Not so much for sleeping." he quipped, standing up straight.

"Look, Sherlock, you can have your room back it really doesn't matter." Molly insisted.

"No, no. We've been through this."

"Let me look at your head."

"I'm fine-" He said, rubbing his hair. This rather convinced Molly otherwise. She shook her head and walked over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him down into a chair.

"I am a doctor, you know. I deal with wounds all day, even if they are on dead bodies."

"It. Is. A. Bump."

Molly ignored him and pushed his curls aside, revealing a raised, red bump.

"Diagnosis, extremely minor head damage. Treatment, be more careful next time."

"I suppose I'll have to be, then." he concluded, looking up to her. Sherlock reached up and locked his hands on the front of her tee shirt, yanking her (a bit rudely) down onto his lap where he then proceeded to kiss her, wrapping both his arms around her tightly.

Molly immediately went along, slipping her hands into his hair. Never did she think this would happen, not to her. Therefore, she jumped at the strand of hope he was giving her. When he unexpectedly let her go, using his arms to support her until she stood up straight once more.

"Sherlock! What was that?" she demanded, half shocked, half swooning.

"Well, it seems I have snogged you." he stated flatly, like it didn't matter. _Like it didn't matter_.

"Yeah? You've got a choice. Apologize. Or, snog me again." Molly declared definitely. Sherlock scoffed and looked up at her again.

"I certainly hope this means I don't have to spend the rest of the night on the couch."

"How do ya mean?"

"It means I'm sleeping in my room tonight, does it not?"

"Oh, well-" Molly didn't really want to sleep on the couch either. At least that's what she assumed. But she was too gentle to not give it up. "Yeah, okay. If you insist."

"Lovely." Sherlock stood and stared at her expectantly. "Coming?"

Molly's breath hitched and she blinked. Maybe she imagined that.

"Sorry?"

"Coming? Are you coming? You gave me a choice, I choose to snog you again. That will most likely bring us to my room eventually anyway, so we might as well start there."

"Oh, I, uh, err,"

Before she could speak, Sherlock, beckoned for her to 'lead the way'.

..

Slipping into cool sheets again wasn't pleasant, but it didn't really matter right now to Molly Hooper. As soon as she was on her back Sherlock stretched and climbed over her, hovering. He studied her face, taking in every small detail.

"I thought you were going to snog me." Molly interrupted.

"Yes of course. I believe I was." he smiled, leaning down to once again catch her mouth in his. The smell of him again filled Molly's nostrils and she inhaled it, allowing it to dull her senses.

..

Molly's mouth tasted very much like ginger, cherries, and lip gloss. He didn't really like it but then again he _did_. It was so very her, and he was at a place where the fine line between stopping now and going on was drawn. He watched himself mentally step over it.

..

John pressed the button on the coffee maker and watched it brew, sunlight streaming through the window glass. Everything seemed so soft and still, until he heard a loud creak and footsteps until Sherlock entered, pouring some of the brewed coffee into his mug.

"You weren't on the couch this morning. I'd ask, but then I really don't want to-" When he turned around he found his best friend sipping his morning cuppa, wrapped in a sheet. Oh. Classic.

"Morning."

"Are you wearing, _anything?" _John asked, massaging his forehead.

"Not really. Except this." He said, gesturing at the sheet wrapped around him, covering everything except his head and his hand. He did look rather ridiculous.

"Of course you aren't." John grinned, shaking his head and turning back to his newspaper.

**Okay, look, I was half asleep writing this. Gimme slack if its bad. May delete later.**

**Review please!**


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